


The First Winter

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hoggywartyxmas, F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17430971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: Several months after the Battle of Hogwarts the Wizarding World was supposed to be getting back to normal. In Hogsmeade, however, it was not exactly business as usual.





	The First Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyttan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyttan/gifts).



> [Written for Hoggywartyxmas 2013.](https://hoggywartyxmas.livejournal.com/48018.html)

The first time Rosmerta heard the noise was on a blissfully quiet December afternoon.

It had been a quiet morning in the Three Broomsticks, followed by a quiet lunch hour, followed by a quiet early afternoon so far. There hadn't been any real need to get up and open the bar at the usual time, but it was easy to let things slide once you started thinking that way, so Rosmerta was careful to always stick to her normal schedule as far as she could.

Peculiar sounds were not part of a normal afternoon around here, quiet or otherwise. She put down her book and listened for a moment, but all she heard was the distant chug-chug-whistle of a train, and a faint tinkle of laughter from somewhere down the street. The sound she'd heard wasn't any of those things. It sounded more like... an animal in pain, perhaps, or even a child crying out. 

The first snowfall, late this year, lay thick on the pavement outside, and Rosemerta reached for her wand to clear a path. But the sun's pale rays made the layer of fresh white sparkle and shine, and she couldn't quite bring herself to clear it away. She pulled on her heaviest winter coat and her fur-lined boots instead, and peered outside again. She could see a small group of people heading down the road, no doubt on their way to the Hog's Head -- yes, as she watched they turned the corner to head that way – and the Foxworthy's youngest busily knocking snow off the chimney across the road. 

Nobody seemed to be in trouble.

“Mina!” She waved at the girl perched on the cottage roof, a generally pleasant child who went by the unfortunate name of Volumina. It was a family name, according to the poor girl's father, but that was no excuse in Rosmerta's book. “Was that you? I thought I heard someone shout.”

Mina shook her head emphatically, the movement sending another pile of snow toppling off the roof behind her. “Didn't hear nothin', miss!” she shouted back, rubbing her mittened hands together. Rosmerta could sympathise; she could already feel her fingers stiffening in the chilly air. 

She stepped carefully onto the street and looked around. There were some hedges and bushes that could be hiding a small animal, but the snow was covering up treacherous thorns, and she wasn't going to go poking around in there without a good reason. She stood still and listened again. A couple of owls broke cover from the Post Office and soared up into the air, sinister dark shapes against the wispy clouds, and Rosmerta watched them until they disappeared.

Then nothing. 

Which was pretty much the story of her life these days. Maybe she'd just imagined the noise, hoping for some excitement. 

She sighed, and made her way back indoors. The bar was spotless, the floor clear of melting snow with a simple flick of her wand, and there wasn't a customer in sight to disrupt her afternoon. Idle as it felt to put her feet up and relax, there didn't seem to be anything else to do right now. She'd have to force herself to settle for a warm fire, another volume of the never-ending fictional adventures of Kitty Maguire, Witch Abroad and a glass of Beauxbatons Red. 

Just like every other day.

 

Rosmerta woke the next morning to a loud thump against the window.

The catch was stiff, but the window opened when she pushed hard enough, dislodging the remains of a snowball from the ledge. It had held together remarkably well, considering. 

“Sorry, miss!” 

There were three of them on the roof this morning, giggling and shoving and patting snow into large balls. 

“Do be careful, Mina!” she called out. Without her spectacles she wasn't sure who the other two were. Spectacles. She really was getting old.

And lazy, if the clock on her bedside table could be believed. Almost half past ten already, and she hadn't so much as cleaned her teeth. But it was even colder and snowier today, she thought, watching a few flakes drift by the window. If there was ever a day to stay snug and warm in bed for a little longer, it was today.

Her huge feather mattress and fluffy quilt had never looked so inviting. And it wasn't as if there was much point in her opening up at the usual time, not with Hogwarts empty for the holidays and all the tourists passing through still goggling at the Hog's Head. A few locals warming themselves by the fire after dark was all the trade she was going to get today. Decision made, she settled back into her bed with a comfortable groan.

A groan that was immediately echoed from somewhere outside.

It was the same pained sound that she'd heard yesterday, Rosmerta was sure. She didn't want to get up again, but if there was something or someone out there-- no, it had to be a something, because it must be on the roof or on the window ledge, or--

There was nothing there. This was ridiculous.

Even the street was empty, apart from a large figure ambling in the distance. She smiled in spite of herself. That might be just the person she needed. 

It didn't matter that the figure was out of sight by the time she had wrapped up warm and ventured out into the street. Some people were hard to lose, and she had a good idea where she'd be able to find him. She followed the oversized footprints in the snow almost all the way to the Hog's Head, and sure enough, over the heads of the crowd of customers outside, she could see her target making his way around the back of the tavern.

“And this is where, before the famous Battle of Hogwarts--” A woman with a whiny voice droned on, apparently long past being excited about her subject, and Rosmerta tuned her out. She stepped cautiously off the road and headed around the back of the building. It was slow going, the snow was deep here, drifted against the fence and covering up rabbit holes and other hazards, but she was still surprised how tiring it was. 

Perhaps she really had needed more sleep this morning.

“You're starting early,” she said, when she pushed open the rickety back gate to see Hagrid just bringing a large tankard to his lips.

“Ah.” Hagrid looked a bit startled at the interruption, and she wondered if the increased ruddiness of his face was due to the cold or the fact that she'd surprised him. “Well, yeh see--”

“Oh, hush.” Rosmerta held out her hands. The rich scent of mead was teasing at her nose, the promise of warmth more than she could stand. “Like I care. Just give me a sip, would you?”

It was a bad idea, drinking at this time of the morning, and in this cold, but apparently today was the day for a lot of bad ideas. And as bad ideas went, this was a very, very good one.

“Better,” she said, handing the tankard back. It took both hands for her to hold it up. She hadn't realised Aberforth kept a Hagrid-sized tankard on hand, though perhaps that was why he was here instead of drinking at the Three Broomsticks these days. 

“Yeh know, I'm only here to do Aberforth a favour.” Hagrid's enormous eyebrows waggled at her, she thought in a concerned way. 

Rosmerta couldn't hold back a snort. “Left you to hold the fort, has he? Typical.”

“Jus' fer a few hours,” Hagrid said, but he didn't sound too sure. She couldn't blame him. Aberforth wasn't the most reliable man; he never had been. “Said he had ter see a man about a goat.”

“If he can't trust his staff he needs to get better ones,” Rosmerta said firmly. “Drink up, I need to borrow you for a while.”

 

“So no invisible creatures,” Rosmerta said. She stood outside her front door and looked around once more. “What about creatures with white colouring, or ones that could hide in snow?

“No native invisible ones.” Hagrid scratched at his beard, and a few snowflakes flew off. “But yeh never know what all these visitors might brin' with them. Come from all over, they have, yeh know.” 

That did complicate things.

“Yeh best bet is ter find it,” Hagrid continued. “Mebbe we can lure it out with some food.”

Which is why, after a rummage through her larder and a quick trip back to the Hog's Head, Rosmerta ended up crouching next to a prickly hedge with a saucer of goat's milk, to the amusement of the Foxworthy kids and their ever-increasing gaggle of friends and accomplices. Even old Mrs Warburt had given her a funny look as she headed out for her regular tuesday Witches Institute luncheon. Her only consolation was that Hagrid was crunching up and down the street thowing around handfuls of breadcrumbs and wafting the tempting scents of mead and leftover apple pie (which she'd been looking forward to with her supper, but never mind) around the street, so she wasn't the only one who looked like she'd lost her mind.

“Here kitty-doggy-whatsit,” she tried, but it just sounded silly next to the noises Hagrid was making. It turned out he had a vast repertoire of animal impersonations, both magical and not, and he seemed determined to try them all out before giving up. She wished she was as hopeful of success as he seemed to be.

“Thank you for trying, anyway,” she said, when all the food and encouragement failed to produce results, and the sky was darkening with the afternoon and the promise of further snowfall. 

“Any time, any time.” Hagrid shuffled his feet. “Well, ah. I should be gettin' back.” He gestured in the direction of Hogwarts and his hut.

“Nonsense.” Rosmerta wasn't much in the mood for cooking, but she wasn't such a poor hostess that she'd send someone away hungry and thirsty in the cold. “It'll be dark before you get home anyway, you may as well stay a while and eat first.”

“I wouldn' say no,” Hagrid admitted, and it was settled.

Heading back indoors to the light and warmth should have been cheering, but tiredness almost overwhelmed her as she stepped back inside. She'd promised food and drink though, and it didn't take much effort after years of keeping customers happy. She had some nice roasted venison in the larder that would make the basis of a nice meal, and though it took a couple of tries with her wand to size up a goblet that Hagrid wouldn't crush in his fist as soon as he picked it up, she managed it in the end.

“You're rusty, my girl,” she muttered to herself, dropping the rejects into the bin. 

Hagrid didn't look as enthused by the Beauxbatons Red she offered him as she'd thought. Perhaps he just wasn't a wine man.

“There's beer if you prefer,” she said, but he shook his head.

“This is fine,” he mumbled, but his voice was thick, and muffled in his beard. “Jus', it reminds me of someone-- it didn' work out.” 

Rosmerta could have kicked herself. She must have been tired if she'd forgotten the rumours about Hagrid and that Madame Maxime woman. How could she have been so insensitive? To her horror, she felt something prickle at her eyes. She must be coming down with something, this was so unlike her.

“On second thoughts, I've an Australian that will go much better with our supper,” she said instead, and cleared the bottle away. She thought from the way Hagrid's eyes crinkled that he appreciated the gesture.

It was easy to make conversation once that was out of the way, and even easier to suggest, when the food was gone, the second bottle stood empty and the snow started falling heavy on the roof and the window-ledges, that Hagrid not make the long journey home in the dark. 

 

Rosmerta woke with her body comfortably lodged in a dip in the centre of her mattress. It took her a moment to work out why there was something large and warm pressed against her side, because it had been a long time since she'd allowed anyone to share her bed, but it wasn't an unpleasant memory.

It had probably been a mistake, though. These things usually were. She turned over, trying to wriggle herself out of the immense dip, but it was no good. She buried her face in the pillow instead.

“I should prob'ly be goin',” Hagrid rumbled. He sounded embarrassed, which wasn't what she'd wanted. “Aberforth might be needin' ter walk the goat or som'thin.” He started to move, but Rosmerta reached back to put a hand on his arm.

“It's early,” she said, and turned back over to rub her cheek against his. He looked pleased at that, and she felt her spirits lift, just a little. “Stay.”

She pulled at the quilt, which was more than big enough to cover them both at the moment, because the likes of her gran had known magics that were long out of fashion among today's witches. Practicality wasn't flashy enough for most of them, but it came in handy at times. She burrowed in against Hagrid's chest and pulled the quilt up over their chins. There was a huff of warm breath and Hagrid opened his mouth to say something, and then--

aaaaoooooowwwww

“That was it!” Rosmerta thrust the quilt away from her and sat up-- leaned up, really. The bed was sturdy and magically reinforced, but it was still pulling her in towards the centre. “That was the noise.”

She was ready to leap out of bed, but Hagrid put a finger to her lips and she stilled. They stayed quiet and listened for a few minutes, and then, sure enough:

aaooooowwwwww

“It sounds worse,” Rosmerta whispered. She was sure the whine was more subdued, more pained that it had been yesterday. Whatever it was must be weakening after a couple of days, and she'd been unable to do a simple thing like find it.

The creature was going to die, and it would be her fault. 

“Are yeh--” Hagrid's hand hovered near her arm, but he didn't seem sure if he was allowed to touch. Which was silly, because he was in her bed, after all. “Are yeh all right?”

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she said, “I'm not usually--”

“Yer not the only one who's bin a bit down.” Hagrid's voice was gentle, his face buried further down in his beard than usual. “Lots o' folks have found it hard ter adjust. It's only bin a few months, an'--”

Rosmerta rubbed at her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. “I know, I know.” 

“We lost a lot o' good witches an' wizards,” Hagrid said. “An' it don' matter what the Ministry says, things won' be the same fer a long time.”

It was good to hear someone say that out loud, she thought. Everyone was so set on celebrating, on talking about rebuilding, how much better everything was going to be. It was as if they thought they could appoint some new officials, declare the Wizarding World safe again, and everyone could just get back to business as usual.

“But there's always hope, yeh know that--” Hagrid said, and then he stopped. “Hope!”

“What?” Rosmerta could see he was looking at her as if she was supposed to understand what he was talking about. Clearly he'd had some sort of revelation, but she couldn't for the life of her think-- “Oh!” she said, finally seeing what he'd worked out.

She held on to the bedstead for grim life as Hagrid hauled himself upright.

“Yeh said the sound might have come from outside the window yesterday?” he asked, pushing it open. 

“I thought maybe that or the roof.” She wrapped herself up in the quilt, which obligingly shrank to keep its hem off the floor, and joined him at the window. “One of the children across the road threw a snowball.”

There were several kids out there today, in the street this time. Today's pastime was apparently snowman building. They were putting the finishing touches to a large one with twigs for a beard that she thought looked rather like Hagrid-- kids never did miss much. No doubt there would be questions from Mrs Warburt at some point about her 'gentleman friend', never mind that there wasn't a soul in Hogsmeade who didn't know Hagrid's entire life story, near enough.

Hagrid had his hand rummaging around in the window box and a look of concentration on his face. “I don' know, but mebbe--” He jerked his arm suddenly and thrust his other hand into the snow as well. “I think-- got it!”

He looked around, and it occurred to Rosmerta finally that he would need something to put it in. The cellar gave up a small wine crate complete with straw, and before long there was a peculiar grey creature grumbling pitifully to itself.

“You know, I've never actually seen a pogrebin before,” Rosmerta said. She waved a bit of pie crust as it, but it ignored her. She'd never met anything that could resist her pastry before, so it was safe to assume she was remembering her Care of Magical Creatures classes correctly and they did only feed on people. “Do you think it came with one of the tourist groups?”

“Mos' likely.” Hagrid stroked the little creature with one large finger and it seemed to settle. “I don' think it's badly injured. It's old, an' it wouldn' have lived for long even if it hadn't bin flung around in snowballs. Jus' feelin' a bit sorry for itself is all.”

Rosmerta pulled the quilt more tightly around her shoulders. “What a pair we make.”

Hagrid patted her hand without a second thought this time, though she rather thought it was the distraction of the pogrebin more than a sudden lack of self-consciousness. 

“It's too old ter feed off people, but it could still make yeh feel a bit down,” he said, and she appreciated the effort. “Bit grumpy, mebbe.”

Rosmerta just watched him pet the creature for a few moments. “I took the inn sign down when the tour groups started coming around,” she said quietly. “It needed cleaning, you know.”

“'Course it did,” Hagrid agreed. 

“That was almost six months ago.” She sighed. “This little thing wasn't around then.”

Hagrid put the lid on the crate then, just lightly, and stood up. She liked how, in her attic bedroom, the ceiling was high enough in the centre for him to stand just about upright. Normally it just made her despair of ever reaching all the cobwebs. Even with a wand you had to be able to see into all the nooks and crannies sometimes.

“Come with me,” he said, and she followed him to the window. 

“Things take time,” he started, and Rosmerta-- had expected more than that, really, if she was honest. She opened her mouth to brush it off, but Hagrid hadn't finished. “See, if yeh learn anythin' from livin' outdoors a lot, it's that everythin' has its own way of changin'. It all has its time.”

He put her hand on the catch of the other window pane and nudged her to open it. The air outside was icy but fresh. Cleansing.

“Yeh don' need ter rush anythin',” he said. “There's snow now, an' if yeh can enjoy it jus' fer a little while, yeh should. Mebbe go and throw a few snowballs yehself.” 

Rosmerta had to smile at that. It had been years since she'd done anything quite so silly, but there was something appealing about it. She could imagine having a snowball fight with this man, maybe.

“Let the snow lie, doin' its job,” Hagrid continued. “An' mebbe when it's gone, yeh'll feel a bit better. Mebbe yeh'll be able ter look at the flowers an' the blossoms an' see how it's the same world, but jus' a bit different. A bit newer, a bit better.”

The snow covering everything was beautiful, Rosmerta could admit that. And the snow could lie for a long time up here, long enough that the street and the hedges and the fences looked wrong and different without them, as if you'd forgotten what they'd looked like before. 

Maybe it would be the same this year.

“An' mebbe it won't.” Hagrid rubbed at his beard. “Mebbe it'll take another winter, or two more. But it'll happen in the end, yeh know that.”

She did, somewhere deep down but buried, dormant, for now. She was still grateful for the reminder. His face was that deep ruddy shade again when she stretched up to kiss his cheek, and this time she didn't think it was down to the cold in the slightest.

“An' then mebbe you'll put the sign up again, eh?” he said gruffly. 

“I might need some help with that,” she told him, and turned back towards her sinfully comfortable bed. “Maybe you should stick around and make yourself useful?”

“I think I migh' be able ter do that,” Hagrid mumbled, and let her pull him down with her.

 

“What are you going to do with it?” Rosmerta asked a few hours later, and Hagrid's eyes followed hers to the wine crate. There were tiny rumbling snores coming from the interior, which was-- cuter than it should be for a dangerous magical creature, even an old and doddery one. 

“Thought I'd take it ter old Aberforth,” Hagrid said. “Give him som'thin' new ter grumble about.”

Rosmerta snuggled closer. “That's a good idea,” she said. “Because let's be honest, even if it does still have some happiness-sucking powers left--” She grinned into Hagrid's neck.

“--nobody will notice the ruddy difference!” he finished, and roared so loudly that the bed shook and shook and shook.

**Author's Note:**

> From the lexicon quoting Fantastic Beasts:  
>  **Pogrebin**  
>  These annoying little creatures are native to Russia. They love to follow people around, infusing them with a sense of hopelessness until the human collapses, at which point the pogrebin attempts to devour them. The Pogrebin resembles a grey rock with a small hairy body and it hides by crouching down and pretending to be nothing but a harmless stone.


End file.
